Sunday, January 30, 2011

the death (VII)

i stare at this button on the sofa
stare at it until all meaning of fabric and bone goes away
and the only thought running through my mind is

why must i die?

why must i endure this pain
this slow, agonizing, creeping pain
hour after hour, day after day
three months of spreading pain
drilling through the cores of my bones
a dull poignant ache that never diminishes
never grows, is simply there
there in the early hours of the morning
at three o'clock when i gasp out in fear
there in the afternoon when the slow lull
of the curtains mocks my position, still on the couch
there in the evening when the callers come
to play bridge and drink coffee

oh god what did i ever do to deserve this pain
didn't i live according to your plan
well and pleasantly with no conflict
conveniently and quietly, in my world
of cheap antiques and wailing relatives
my smirking acquaintances colleagues
my hacking wife and my whorish daughter
i lived with ease and well so why must you punish me so
with this pain this pain this pain

always there, always gnawing at me
wanting my body, my soul

take my body, take my soul
take them take them take them
cursed pain, take them
give me death, give me anything else except this

no! i see its face looming towards me
eyes glittering in the back of its head
chuckling and sharpening its claws that plunge
into the human's treasure and take out his prized possession
in bloody tatters while he screams in horror

my cracked dry mouth opens and my throat swells
my tongue hangs limply with my teeth and the dark abyss
of my body shows through and death comes with its silken grimy paws
smiles its cheshire cat smile and whispers in my ear

i have come for you

get off, demon! take your filthy body off my chest
your stinking breath of fear and hopelessness
i cannot bear you and this pain both within my frail mind
do not touch me with your curse, i have still yet to live

to live, to live, let me still live, i have done no wrong
i have done no wrong so why must i die, i am not like everyone else
i have lived according to plan, this cannot be my end,
bitter and unfulfilled, staring at a bone button on a sofa
you have no right to take this away from me
selfish god, you have no reason to snuff me out like this

yet i cannot remember the last time i smiled
nor the last time i felt truly good
save my childhood memories, those few snapshots
of nostalgia that flicker in my memory sometimes
yet i lived well and pleasantly, i cannot remember
the last time i was quite happy
not ambitious nor self-satisfied, but truly simply happy
my life, a sham nicely covered by the veil of attempted richness
those around me, deceitful liars, constantly saying that i'll get better
that i am not dying, that i will live longer

no, i am dying
i have not lived the way i should have lived
and now i must pay the price and die

but what if i can still make amends
and live in these last moments, these last hours
i scream my pain three days
i scream my anguish and my hatred for my wife
for the specialist doctors who told me to keep taking my pills
for my daughter who cannot understand my pain
i scream my pity for my son, too young to realize his father's death
i scream my useless life away

and finally, i scream for joy
because i have finally lived and been pressed down by death
so far and so deep that it has lost sight of me
it cannot find me here, bathed in light

oh god, i have conquered it
death is finished
it is no more

Friday, January 28, 2011

My Journey to Atheism

I grew up in a Christian Orthodox family. My mother and her parents are Christian, whereas my father and possibly his parents are not so religious. Orthodoxy is basically an extremely traditional form of Christianity with three hour services, segregated parts of the side (female and male), no pope, married priests, and the like. It's very traditional in the sense that it's not particularly restrictive, but the Church is not the most modern. Although it is anti-homosexuality and anti-abortion, it doesn't enforce the "rules" as strictly as other denominations might (Catholic Church, I'm looking at you). 

Either way, I grew up with Christianity. My grandparents are extremely religious and my mother is a bit more relaxed, but still religious. When I was younger, I suppose I did believe in a God, but not with a necessary fervour. I believed in him in a more "Yeah, sure, of course I believe in God" way. I remember when the first grain of doubt was instilled within me. I have always had an obsession with angels, and when I was around ten or so, I asked my grandmother if I could ever be an angel. She said no, that humans could never be angels, that they could only be saints. I told her I would find a way to become an angel. I'm not sure how this story instilled a grain of doubt within me, but I was under the impression that it was unfair that God wouldn't allow humans to become angels. (Hey, I was ten, give my lack of logic a break). The actual impasse though came with my second question. "If people can be good without God, does he still send them to Hell?" My grandmother, the daughter of a priest, couldn't answer my simple question. I began to think that this whole business was really just extremely muddled. But I still prayed every night, out of habit, I suppose. 

I did talk to God. I actually talked to him. Prayers meant nothing to me. They were just formulaic words, and it seemed more efficient and much more "good devout follower" to try to have an actual conversation with God. During middle and the beginning of high school, I would talk and ask Him questions, hours on end. When I got myself in a situation that I needed his help for, I would cry and ask him for help. A sign. Anything. Anything to tell me that he was there and listening to me. He was basically my teddy bear. I would rage at him and have a one-sided conversation until I'd fall asleep from exhaustion. 

My father, being the atheist that he is, started asking me why the Bible contradicted itself. I didn't know, I hadn't read much of the Bible. Yet what he said made sense. Why were there so many errors if the book was the word of God? During freshman year, I would continually tell people that I was a Christian. There was one point in which I truly tried to believe I was one. But it just didn't stick to me. Sophomore year, I read Veronika Decides to Die by Paulo Coelho. The novel tells the story about a young woman, Veronika, who decides to kill herself. She swallows a bunch of pills and wakes up several days later in a mental asylum, to be told that even though the pills didn't kill her then, it would only be a matter of days until they would destroy her and she would die. Veronika has to will herself not to want to live for the next several days, but her plan kind of dies because of all the things she learns in that short amount of time. The novel deals with faith, God, taboo, sex, the will to live, the will to die, questions sanity and what the true meaning of insanity is. It is an absolutely incredible book and I recommend it to everyone. While reading the book, I had a revelation. God is Love! God is Beauty! God is Nature! God is all around us! God is not some guy with a white beard with his son Jesus, who died on the cross. He's everywhere here! 

For a short time, I was a pantheist. But there was still doubt. I realized that if I believed God was love, beauty, and nature, I didn't really believe in a supernatural God, I believed in the world. I could just as well believe in love, beauty, and nature without believing in a God. Equating Him with vague words such as those doesn't make him any more explainable or true. Did I believe some supernatural force controlled the universe? Not necessarily, no. I found it hard to believe that someone was supervising our actions and thoughts. I looked around me and saw misery everywhere. Where was the mercy? The goodness? Where was the love? God's will didn't seem like a very fair concept and everything that the Christians preached seemed hypocritical and nonsensical. It just didn't make sense with what I saw happening around me. 

But the real revelation came to me when I read Greta Christina's Why I Don't Believe in the Soul. I had started reading her blog a little while before and I thought she made very good, logical points. (All the while I was trying to figure out my faith, or lack thereof, I had no bad opinion of atheists. In fact, my best friend was a bitter cynical one who I highly respected). If you haven't read any of her articles, this one is a good one to start with. She mostly writes about atheism, sex, gay rights, and other miscellaneous interesting subjects. She's one of the best bloggers out there, so you should all definitely check her out. Anyway, "Why I Don't Believe in the Soul" explains why she doesn't believe humans have anything other in themselves besides their brains that makes up their morals, their consciences, thoughts, dreams, etc. and their bodies. I realized that I actually agreed with her. I didn't believe in a soul either. So then why should I believe in a God? The whole focus of religion is what happens on this world so we can go to the afterlife. The afterlife is always the one that's the most important, the one that's eternal. Life is simply a phase. Yet if I didn't believe in a soul, why should I believe in an afterlife, and therefore why should I believe in a God? On that day, I made a Livejournal post explaining my thought process. I'll post it here so you can read it:

-a god is defined as perfect, omnipotent, and all-knowledgeable
-the christian god is also good, merciful, and just
-i do not believe that such a god could create a world as flawed, unmerciful, and unjust as this one without there being a flaw in him (a perfect being creates a perfect work; if there are flaws in the work, there are flaws in the being)
-a god is not perfect if he creates; if he does so he must have a reason to do so; what would his reason be?
-if i do believe in a god, he is definitely not good, merciful, or just; he is distant, cynical, a major asshole, looking at this world and laughing his ass off...on second thought, maybe believing in no god is better than believing in a god like that
-a god has yet to be proven...or disproven
-however, there has been no evidence as of now to prove the actual existence of a god, nor has there been evidence as of now to disprove the actual existence of a god
-however, that's not the point of faith; the point of faith is to believe without having evidence or proof
-therefore, faith in a god is based solely on spiritual reasons rather than actual proof or evidence
-i'm not sure whether that cuts it for me...i think i might just have become an atheist. christ, that's frightening. O.o

-i don't believe in a "soul"; all of our morality and consciousness come from repeated observations and are based on selfishness (not necessarily a bad thing, though); our morality and consciousness are part of our body-brain
-if i don't believe in a soul, i don't think i believe in heaven or hell after death either; the concept of heaven and hell is that after you die, your body rots in the ground while your "soul" goes to either state/place
-however, i do believe in a heaven and hell on earth. also, they both are states of mind and emotion, rather than actual places. during life, one can go to both heaven and hell. they are not places where one goes to seek one's reward or one's punishment, respectively, they are simply states of mind and emotion in a certain period of time
-i also believe in angels and demons (on earth, again); we all have our angels and demons though i don't perceive them as having to do with anything outside life
-even if heaven and hell do exist, what matters is not the afterlife, it's what one does in life
-why? the afterlife is eternal while life is simply temporary. however, if the eternal afterlife is based on one's actions and/or beliefs during the temporary life, which one is more important? the latter.
-if heaven and hell don't exist, what one does in this life still matters; one's actions influence those around

-in the whole aspect of things, we honestly don't matter. if we dropped off the face of the earth, the universe would still continue. a bit hard to bear, no? we don't really matter all that much.
-however, we are alive now and we do matter now. in that case, why not live fully?

-still not sure about reincarnation. Jonathan Livingston Seagull is a really beautiful book and i absolutely love the concept in it. must read more on subject. 

After I had written this on January 21, 2010, almost exactly a year ago, I realized I was an atheist. (An edit towards the last bullet point--I don't believe in reincarnation). Did I feel any loss towards a belief in a God? No. I was strangely relieved. I had never felt that close to Him anyway and I hadn't truly ever been sure of his existence. Did I feel guilty for letting my family down? No. They still don't know I'm an atheist, yet they believe that I'm heading towards the dark side. Little do they know, that I've been long down that path, I just hadn't found the light yet. (The irony, it kills me.) I belive what I believe and I can't help it. I don't believe that I need a God to be good. I don't believe in a supernatural force that guides its hand over the world. It doesn't make sense. It just doesn't fit with logic. Do I feel uncomfortable around most of my family, knowing that if I told them I would probably be regarded as a black sheep? Yes. It's becoming harder and harder to deal with my family's religion and intolerance. Sooner or later, I'm going to have to come out and that will be that. I still go to church, granted, a conservative, traditional Episcopalian one. And every time I go, I feel unbearable anxiety and uncomfortability. I don't belong there. I'm an intruder. I cannot deal with these people and their God. But I don't feel on a wishy washy road anymore. I know what I believe in--no supernatural force at all. And life's very fucking beautiful even without the belief in a God. In fact, it's even more beautiful. This life is all we have, so let's live it for real. No wasting any time, no thinking we have an afterlife to make it up. There's wonder in the universe even without believing in something supernatural. Isn't the world enough? isn't it wondrous and beautiful enough without having to add another complicated factor to it? 

Because I'm an atheist doesn't mean I'll come to rape you or eat your babies. I have morals and they're not because Christianity has influenced my line of thinking. I believe that we are all inherently selfish, and from this selfishness comes morality. The example I use the most often is the one with the man and his neighbour's sheep: if your neighbour has a sheep and you want his sheep, you can just kill him and have his sheep (and his wife, his farm, etc). But if a natural disaster comes and you need his help, he won't be there, and you'll die. So it is better to let your neighbour live and not have the sheep (who knows, if you ask him, he may let you have it) and therefore, you profit also. Generosity and kindness from selfishness. Ta da!

Finally, I want to dispel a rumour about us baby-eating, wife-raping atheists. I have no issue with religious believers, as long as they don't stick it in my face or are overly obnoxious. I don't hate believers. I do think that religion serves a purpose, not as a moral ground at all, but as a good look into the history, background, and culture of the civilizations that believed in it. Religion can serve for good purposes, but it can be easily turned to do quite the opposite (as has been seen for centuries). The most interesting trend that can be seen as of today, though, is that people are becoming more spiritual nowadays than religious. There will always be fanatics, but as the awareness of atheism and agnosticism grows, the more liberal in their thoughts and actions people will be, the more spiritual and secular religions will have to become. Whether the major religions are flexible and popular enough to resist, we shall see.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

On Atheistic Satanism-The Satanic Bible and Anton LaVey

Ever since I saw this painting (that I've completely forgotten what it's called), I've been fascinated by the idea of Satan, the Devil, Lucifer. The Devil is usually depicted as a little, black, horned man who's holding a red pitchfork and cackling manically. (Actually, that's more of the image of a demon, but...) But this painting showed a young, beautiful, dark skinned man staring at the ground in sorrow. This was a completely new representation of the draculean image that I had grown up with. Later, I learnt of John Milton and his daring tale of Lucifer as a handsome, proud, independent man who ruled the Underworld in Paradise Lost. The usual Christian story of the fall of the Devil is that Lucifer (LIghtbringer) Morningstar, God's most beautiful and favourite angel went up against him because he thought he could overthrow the Creator. Instead, he was thrown down into Hell with his minions, other fallen angels, or demons. Ever since I was young, I had always veered towards the dark side of things, so when I went to church, rather than looking at depictions of Heaven, I was instantly attracted to those of Hell. Flames, burning humans, dragons, and demons with pitchforks were more interesting to me than the green field of Elysium. But not until I started reading the Sandman series did I actually begin to be quite interested in Lucifer. In one of the volumes, he's depicted as a young man with blond hair who's the keeper of Hell. He's quite charming, actually. And extremely hot.

Anyway. So I looked up Satanism on Wikipedia and it seems that there are two types: Theistic Satanism (the worship of the Devil as a deity) and Atheistic Satanism (the practice of Satanic magic and rituals, but not the worship of the Devil as a deity). I looked into Atheistic Satanism, read the Wiki article, and decided it was an interesting enough religion to get to the basis of. The easiest and most efficient way sometimes to understand what a religion is truly about is to read the book that it is based on, in this case, The Satanic Bible. The book was written by Anton LaVey, who deemed himself the head of the Church of Satan. I just finished the book today and I want to make some points about what I noticed, what I liked, and what I didn't like.

Anton LaVey wrote The Satanic Bible primarily as an attack against Christianity. His name for the religion, Satanism, was chosen because "Satan" means "adversary, opposer", and Satan is the foe of God (aka Christianity). LaVey spends most of the book scorning other religions, not just Christianity, but Buddhism and "fake" Satanism as well, declaring they're hypocrital and untrue. I don't have an issue with a religion berating another one. After all, that's their job, especially if they're a universalizing religion. But making a religion explicitly to berate a religion seems hypocritical. LaVey points out that many "Christian" political and powerful figures are taking advantage of the lower classes through the means of money. Yet The Satanic Bible itself is a book, I believe, specifically written for commercialism because of its attack on religion (and the fact that it's basically an age-old philosophy tied with a bit of rituals and magic to make it more appreciated by the voodoo witch folk).

The main philosophy of Atheistic Satanism, LaVey style is that man is at his base a selfish, indulgent animal that has the capability to be morally "better" than animals because of their higher intellect, but usually, are not. Satanism is supposedly the only religion (according to its creator) that celebrates the indulgences of the flesh and allows everyone to do what they like, within reason, and not to be dragged down by the guilt that other religions provide them with. This sounds like a decent philosophy and on the whole, I actually agree with it, with exceptions. However, there are some further comments I'd like to make. The "Ten Commandments", if we can say, of Atheistic Satanism can be summarized in The Nine Satanic Statements:

1. Satan represents indulgence, instead of abstinence.
By this, man should not abstain from pleasures. This is basically a Hedonistic approach to life, which is all totally fine, except that Satanism has one aspect that Hedonism does not. The latter professes that the greatest good is pleasure, and that one should seek the greatest good no matter who gets hurt. Satanism doesn't condone that behaviour and says that you can do anything you'd like as long as it doesn't hurt anyone else or involve anyone that doesn't want to be involved. Later in the book, LaVey clarifies that indulgence is not compulsion. Indulgence is doing what you like within measure, whereas compulsion is doing what you like because you've been suppressed for a length of time from the action (so you act out).

2. Satan represents vital existence, instead of spiritual pipe dreams.

3. Satan represents undefiled wisdom, instead of hypocritical self-deceit.
I agree with this, but in a way, it seems to me that Atheistic Satanism is also hypocritical. LaVey seems so sure that he's the one who's right. How does he know? How can he be so sure? I don't believe in his magic mumbo jumbo and he doesn't believe in "white" magicians (who only do spells for altruistic purposes). He is just as bad as any other prophet that he berates against.

4. Satan represents kindness to those who deserve it, instead of love wated on ingrates.

5. Satan represents vengeance, instead of turning the other cheek.
This is the point I have the most issue with. This is a blatant attack on Christianity, obviously. I don't completely agree with the "turn the other cheek" philosophy myself. Sometimes, you have to stand up for yourself and beat the person up. But sometimes, it irritates your enemy more if you treat them with kindness. Forgiveness is also a virtue and Satanism says nothing about that. If someone does you a wrong, you can either slice them open with a sword or you can brush it off as the stupidity it is. It seemed to me that this point advocates a bit too much violence than I'm comfortable with.

6. Satan represents responsibility to the responsible, instead of concern for psychic vampires.

Something to be said about vampires here. They exist. I know you're thinking "What the fuck is she talking about, vampires don't exist, are you crazy?" It depends on your definition of vampire. If you mean someone who drinks other people's blood, sleeps in a coffin, is extremely pale, etc...than yes. Vampires exist. Believe it or not, there are people who drink other people's blood, who do sleep in coffins, who believe that they need blood to survive, and who form communities with other vampires. This has been going around for a long time, so wake up and smell the coffee.* If you don't believe me, watch this episode of Tyra Banks's show. It's surprisingly quite good and explains quite a lot about the subculture. Anyway, to give you a head start, there are three types of vampires: blood vampires that solely feed on other people's blood (usually, the process is quite hygienic and the blood donor has been tested for STD's and HIV/AIDS); psychic vampires (who feed off of the energy of people); and a combination of both. What LaVey meant in his sixth point was to beware of those psychic vampires who are needy and who feed off of you without you being able to get rid of them because you feel so indebted to them even though they haven't done a thing for you.

7. Satan represents man as just another animal, sometimes better, more often worse than those that walk on all fours, who, because of his "divine spiritual and intellectual development", has become the most vicious animal of all.

8. Satan represents all of the so-called sins, as they all lead to physical, mental, or emotional gratification.

9. Satan has been the best friend the church has ever had, as he has kept it in business al these years.

The whole philosophy is of controlled selfishness. I do believe that humans are inherently selfish and that they made their moral code because of their selfishness. My example is that if your neighbour has a sheep and you want his sheep, you can just kill him and have his sheep (and his wife, his farm, etc). But if a natural disaster comes and you need his help, he won't be there, and you'll die. So it is better to let your neighbour live and not have the sheep (who knows, if you ask him, he may let you have it) and therefore, you profit also. This is a very basic example, but I think that this is really how morality came about. Satanism calls for man to believe in himself above all else and to believe that he is actually the god.

What I liked best about the book was the sex part. LaVey's theory is to let anyone do anything they like sexually as long as it doesn't hurt anyone that doesn't want to be hurt or involve anyone that doesn't want to be involved. This includes any kind of fetish you'd like, allows for any kind of sexuality you'd prefer, and any kind of sexual lifestyle you'd prefer (monogamy, non-monogamy). Forcing yourself to do something you don't naturally want to do is the bane of the philosophy.

Basically, atheistic satanism is a philosophy that has been around for thousands of years and stuck with several curses and rituals. These spells and curses are actually pretty useless, as useless as prayer, but whether LaVey actually believed they worked or he only stuck them in so he could get more money out of it remains a mystery to me.

Overall, it's an alright religion, though I don't recommend anyone to go sprinting into it. It's much more efficient as a philosophy and I believe, the best philosophy out there (excluding the violence).

The second point I want to make is about LaVey himself. Before I started reading the book, I went on Youtube and found some of his interviews. I was absolutely shocked.

He definitely looks like he plays the part and he's making it all up for show. But listening to his interview, I was shocked that what he said actually made sense. It was reasonable. He had logic in his brain. He wasn't stupid and he wasn't some deranged fanatic. Though that may be a tactic to get more followers, what he preaches actually makes sense. Don't deny yourself what you like. Why should you? What good will it do you? None at all. Control yourself and you'll have no issues. Of course, he didn't come up with anything new, but his whole psychodrama, as he calls it, is refreshing. He puts on a show and forces you to actually listen to what he has to say, because what he has to say may not seem as strange as you'd think.

On the same note, I realized that there was another very famous and popular man out there who's in the same situation: Marilyn Manson. He puts on a complete show and scares everyone away, but if you actually take the time to what he says, he actually is quite mature and makes sense.

In conclusion, this was an interesting read and I did appreciate the fact that there was someone out there that supports an atheistic philosophic view, as bundled with magical nonsense as it is. It didn't change my views about anything, but it allowed me to learn more about a religion that otherwise, I would have not known anything about.

*This is not to say that all of you Twilight obsessed lovers out there have any more of a right to be more irritating than you already are. Stfu.

the best day of your life (XVIII)

i'm a modern man
i wake up in the morning at eight
bleary eyed, i stare at the ceiling and remember
that my wife has left me because she said
i was too boring

i look down underneath my sheets
and decide my erection is not that important
so i turn and set my feet on the floor
stand up and make my way to the door

i piss shower shave brush my teeth
put on boxers pants belt socks
undershirt buttondown and knot my tie
in a windsor

head to the kitchen where i make coffee
black coffee
and toast, only slightly burnt
look at my watch
leisurely eat my breakfast
while leisurely looking out the window
at the fluffy clouds and bright searing blue sky
that seem to say good morning you're awake live life today

i fumble to find my keys in my briefcase
open the car door
turn on the engine and back out of the garage

driving down the road, i clear my mind of all negative thoughts
remember my childhood my wife my aborted child
my parents who think i'm good for nothing
my boss who fired me for not responding to her come ons
my friends probably still unconscious at the bar

i close my eyes
take a deep breath
exhale and smile

it's going to be a beautiful day
the best goddamn day ever

and run that red light right into the line of traffic.

and the angels shook their chains and cried 'turn back' (IV)

sign over heaven reads:

would you rather have nothing to lose
or know everything there is to know

would you be wise, yet hated and feared
or be unknown, insignificant, living in misery and grime
able to feel the purest emotions

would you like to be perfect and cold dead
or terminally flawed and a heart bearing warm blooded animal

do you want to play god
or be human

somewhere, there is freedom
but it cannot be found here

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Rethinking "Belated Thoughts on Wear Purple Day, Suicide, and Bullying"

A while ago, I wrote a post on bullying and suicide because of it. It was a post about how I changed my mind about wearing purple in honour of those who killed themselves because of the bullying they received because of their sexuality (or as I liked to view it, to help those who were struggling with the same issue themselves and are looking for support to not go through with the act). When I posted the piece on Xanga, several people commented that I had critiqued the boys too harshly because of their suicide. I had basically said that if those around them and themselves included had tried harder to notice what was wrong and to reach out and do something about it, the suicides would have not happened. I blamed everyone, not just the parents, the teachers, the bullies, I blamed the children themselves. I do still believe that they ultimately were in control of their own bodies and thoughts, that they didn't have to kill themselves, that they could have seen that the bullying would pass, that they could stand up or reach out or do something, but that they didn't have to kill themselves. Anything about that.

Yet...This is me talking. This is not them. I am seventeen, I'm in high school, I've been through bullying, I can deal with it. I have felt what those thirteen year olds have felt. I am older and wiser. They are not. They're thirteen. They've barely started puberty. They haven't developed yet. They're not strong enough. They're trying to be independent. They don't want to reach out. They want to show everyone that they can stand on their own two feet and survive. That they can do it and get through it all without anyone's help. That's normal. That's most of us. That's me. I refuse people's help all the time. I've refused it when I shouldn't have, when if I had reached out, it would have helped me considerably. People reached out to me, or rather, they tried. I refused them though, because I could do it on my own. I was stubborn. I still am.

But I'm seventeen. I should know better. I should be old and wise. They can't know any better. How can they? Nobody's taught them what to do when someone calls them a faggot. They don't know if their parents are going to be okay with the fact that they are sexually and romantically attracted to other boys, and only other boys. They don't know if their friends will be okay with it. What if they're just like the bullies? The teachers? How can you trust them? They're just teachers.

It's easy to lose hope when you're thirteen. Hell, it's easy to lose hope any time. It's easy to try to get yourself out of a shit hole and not be able to. It's easy to lock yourself up and not let anyone in. You can do it. You'll do it. And you realize you can't. But you can't see the people who are still trying to reach you. Some of them may be gone because they've given up. But it's all about you now. You can't see anything. You can't escape. What can you do? You can die.

I'm still horrified that thirteen year olds can consider death an option. That death isn't something that comes later, when you're seventeen, twenty, thirty, fifty...That it's present when you're still a child. I'm still horrified that these children can't see past one or two years. But how can they? When you're depressed, you can't see past a day. We don't know what really happened to those children. More than just verbal insults could have happened. Either way, whether it was just verbal or physical, it doesn't matter. It was still hurtful. It was still detrimental. It still killed these young boys.

No, suicide is not the answer. It's rarely the answer. I failed to see the boys as boys...I saw them as adults. They should know better, they're thirteen! Until nuirxestel replied to my post, I thought I was right. They should have been smarter and they should have had hope. Easy thing for me to say. I forgot to remember myself when I was thirteen. I wasn't smart. I thought I was, but I wasn't. Did I have hope? Sometimes. That year wasn't the best year of my seventeen years. It was possibly the worst, in fact. I went through something that left me confused, angry, and depressed. I tried to do something. It didn't work and that's why I'm still here. So, no, I should be the one who should know better. I know what they went through and I should know to be more merciful towards them.

Thank you, nuirxestel.

Thank you, FallingSafely.

Saturday, January 22, 2011


I step outside to find that there's a biting wind nipping at my body. It was unbearably hot and humid just this morning and now it's freezing. The weather makes no sense at all in this city. It's January and there's no snow, but there are varying degrees of forty degree temperature changes. God, don't you love this place.

My fingers stumble around in my pocket to find the packet of cigarettes I've been saving. One last ciggie left and i slide it into my mouth as I search for my lighter. I find it in my other pocket and flick it one, two, three times until i can get a decent flame burning. I suck in and reverberating pleasure resounds through me. I breathe out and my favourite thing in the world comes curling from my mouth: smoke.

This is why I'm addicted to cigarettes. Not just because it helps calm me down, but the motion of my fingers, and the smoke that comes out every time i's so beautiful. I play with it, like a person plays with a kitten. I hold it back, suck it in, let it slowly, slowly...and then whoosh it out fast. It's fun. It's addicting.

But today, she said she'd found me a way to quit smoking. I told her I already was addicted to chewing gum, so putting nicotine and masticating motion together wouldn't be the wisest idea. She said it was something else, something I couldn't get addicted to, except for the purpose of seeing the smoke. I told her I was anti-drugs and she told me to shut the fuck up, if i was anti-drugs, why the hell did I smoke. So I said I'd meet her at three by the bridge.

As I get in the car, she cranks the music up so loud, I swear I can feel my eardrums cracking. I shiver in my thin, summer clothes until we get to her apartment. I jump up and down while she's searching for her keys. This happens every goddamn time. Hurry up hurry up hurry up, yes, I'm in! And I almost fall over her cat that's stretching near the door. I take off my shoes, scavenge her fridge, and follow her into the room. The cat follows me and hops in my lap as I lay down on her bed. So what do you have for me, I ask. Wait. So I do. I can hear clanking in the kitchen, water rushing out of the sink. I hear footsteps and I hear her say behind me Close your eyes. I do so, and a minute later, I can feel a heavy weight settle on the other side of the bed. I hear curses and a lighter clicking several times. Dude. I told you I don't want any weed.
This isn't weed, stupid. I told you, this won't be addicting.I sigh and wait for her to be done. Five minutes later, she tells me I can open my eyes. I do so and see a hookah. I blink. A hookah? Aren't you supposed to put tobacco in it?
Yeah, but it's extremely diluted so it'll be totally fine. It's really spiced up. Give it a try.
And I do. I breathe in and feel soft, sweet, musky, thick in my mouth.
Try to talk with it. It's hard.
What should I- I laugh. It is hard to talk with it in your mouth.
But I notice that smoke goes everywhere. It's better than smoking. I could do this all day. I lay on my back and watch the smoke drifting towards the ceiling.
Can you get high off this?
No. Of course not. Dude, anyone who says they can get high is totally lying.

Puff puff. Exhale. Breathe. Mmh.
Close eyes.
I smile.

And if you go chasing rabbits and you know you're going to fall tell 'em a hookah smoking caterpillar has given you the call

Call Alice*

Call Alice

Call me...

*lyric from white rabbit by Jefferson Airplane

Friday, January 21, 2011

ecstasy (VIII)

if you see a shadow there's something there
between the ceiling and the dark spots of the room
under the bed and behind the wires of the tv
lodged between the cracks of walls and squeezed
through the floorboards and windows

i lift my head and the world whooshes in and out
my stomach turns over and my flesh burns to the touch
my heart's beating three times faster than usual
and in my mind the question am i going to die creaks
like a broken record

am i going to die

am i

am i going to

i am going to die




no, baby, you're not going to die
not now not yet
god doesn't let young fools like you off so easily
he's a sadistic bastard who jacks off to the idea
of bringing us to heaven once
letting us taste that indescribable joy
then plunging us back down again to earth
parched mouth, rolling eyes, crying throat

so hard and so fast
that we look around us in the morning when we wake
and instead of fearing death
we yearn for it with all of our being
because life is not enough

it is not enough

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Thoughts on "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind"

The other day, I watched "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind". I had tried to watch it several years ago but stopped because it was too depressing, but now I finally manned up and watched it completely. It's one of the most thought-provoking movies I have ever seen. It's very interestingly filmed and it has to be the best movie about relationships I've seen.

It's the story of a couple, Joel (Jim Carrey) and Clementine (Kate Winslet) who go through a procedure to erase each other from their memories, yet in the end, still decide to start a relationship again even though they know they'll break up anyway. While watching the movie, two thoughts struck me:

It's incredibly stupid to erase someone from your memory. The people you meet, the events that happen, they are the ones that shape your life. Even the negative moments the people you wish you had never met because now you've changed into someone you despise...all that shapes who you are. And in the end, you are the one that decides what to lel make or break you. I believe that you can learn something from everything that hapens to you, and relationships are the best example of that. Even if the relationship was horrible, destructive, and you would have been better off without it, now you know what relationships not to get into. If a relationship ended badly, that's regrettable, but think about all the good times you had and be glad for those. And if you really honestly want to go back and fix the ending, try to keep in touch with your ex, discuss what happened...Don't just wallow in guilt and think you can't change anything. You almost always can (provided an amount of cooperation from both parties is present). Yet, trying to erase a person won't help. If you find that person again and strike up a relationship, the memory loss process is useless because you'll still reach the same conclusion. This is explored in the movie by the sub-characters Mary and Howard, two employees of the Lacuna business that performs the memory erasure process. In the past, Mary had an affair with Howard, had her memory erased, yet after, she still harbours romantic feelings for him.

The second thought that passed through my mind was at the end where after Joel and Clementine realize that they have already dated two years ago and know that if they date again, they'd still break up, they decide to give it another go. That's what makes the whole movie so beautiful and hopeful; the fact that even though you know the relationship won't last, you still go through with it. Because, in reality, few relationships last until death parts. Even if a couple stays together one year, five, fifty, there is still the immense chance that they'll go their separate ways. And it's sad but that's life, and it would be smart to go into every relationship with the mentality that you're going to get the best out of it you can, and when it's time to end it, you will. A relationship is not the end of the road between two people. Contrary to popular belief, you can still be extremely good friends with your ex. In my opinion, friendship with someone is superior to a romantic or sexual relationship. Romance dies, lust fades, but friendship can be a life-long sentiment and is easier to maintain. The movie also infers that no matter how long a relationship is and no matter how "serious" it is, it is still an important part of one's life. A one-year relationship is not necessarily more valid than a twenty-five year one or a one-night stand. Each has their purpose and only the people involved know how truly important the relationship is. The most important thing is to have a good time while you can.

I highly recommend this movie. Jim Carrey is an amazingly good actor in dramas and Kate Winslet is as well. Though a bit confusing, it all comes together at the end and the filming is ingenuous. Also, you really can't miss Clementine's awesome hair.

Monday, January 17, 2011


We get to your place around midnight. The tires screech to a stop and we slam our doors while giggling like the bastards we are. You can't find her keys at first and as we stand there in our short skirts and glowing bracelets, we curs and stamp our feet on the frozen ground, like horses neighing in irritation. You find them, fumble, and finally open the door. We stumble into the apartment and fall down onto the floor, pressing our lips to the ratted carpet like we have just found land again. Laughing, we roll onto our backs and stare up at the cracked ceiling while listening to the upstairs neighbours having sex.

I've started a noise war with them. I turn my music up as loud as it will go so the walls reverberate. Don't think it's working though.
I smile. I roll over onto my stomach and stalk my prey...the bong. Eyes narrow, fingers cramp, butt in the air...I am a tiger, a feline predator, ready for the pounce, thirsting for the kill. Thirsting for blood.

Dude, what the fuck are you doing?

Ssssh. Stalking my prey.

You roll your eyes. Whatever. Pick up the bong and deprive me of my fun. I sigh and turn around while you reach for your bag. Close my eyes for a second, open them again, and you're lighting it up.

Want a hit?

Nah, I'm fine.

Suit yourself.
Lay on your back. We start talking. 'Bout books, 'bout life, 'bout everything. I like listening to you talk. You ramble on about Russian authors and French existentialism, Warhol philosophy and modern art. I voice my opinions, but mine are nothing compared to your vast library of knowledge.

I feel like I'm in a Woody Allen movie. You're Woody Allen. I laugh frequently while you talk and my eyes cross over to your bookshelf, filled to the brim with books. I see a little container of blue fluid. I slowly get up and walk across the room to investigate.

Your fish seems to be dead.

Yeah, I know. That's Frisky. I bought him like that.

You bought a dead fish?

I hear a laugh behind me. Yeah.

I sit back on the floor, watching you. I stare at your eyes, nose, mouth. Your incredibly tiny ears. Your piano fingers, holding a glass of wine. Mouth slightly open.

I think I'll take a hit.

Saturday, January 15, 2011


You're walking down the dirt road again. And I'm watching you leave again. This must be the hundredth time, I swear. I don't call your name. And you don't look back. We play our parts so well, repeated to perfection. I know you'll be back, so after I watch you disappearing, a dot swaying back and forth, I open the door and go back inside the house.

We should both know by now the old routine of it. You always leave the morning after we make love. It happens spontaneously, like a flame from a match. Our eyes meet and we both get that look and then we can't breathe because our lips aren't letting the air escape. Your flesh burns to my flesh and my hands run up and down your body. And as we move as one, the air above us combusts and we burst into flame.

And then the morning after, you leave. You say you're scared that what happened last time would happen again. You'd forget about your walls and little cracks would creep up the bricks. While you're sleeping, I would climb in your mind and chisel away at the mortar and I'd make a hole big enough so I could squeeze through. And what I'd find there...we don't speak of that. So, in the morning, I offer you breakfast, and over the cup of coffee, you tell me the age-old lie My mother's sick. Six feet under the ground sick.

Remember that night when you woke up screaming and I held you as you rocked back and forth asking me Do I exist? Do you exist? and I'd reassure you that we both did exist. If nothing else, we existed. But you wouldn't be calmed down. What if we don't exist? And what if we don't? The world would still go on without us, and isn't that the hardest fact to bear? That, in reality, we are meaningless and we don't matter at all? That if we died right now, nobody would care at all and the universe would still go loping around?

I think that's why you do drugs. You want to convince yourself that you matter. After I told you I wouldn't care until you cared, you started to do beautifully nicknamed drugs like snow white ice queen or moon or crystal butterfly. And after a day or two, you'd come to me and say I found God. He's hiding. He's scared. I talked to him. He wants to come out but he doesn't know if we'd like him or not. He's really just a boy who doesn't know what to do. You'd tug on my sleeve and ask me to come on a trip with you. It'll be like nothing you've done before.

And it wasn't. I can't describe it. You'd have to try for yourself. But I have to say, it was nothing like making love to you. It was almost comparable, but nothing beats burning alive.

When I told you that last night, you made that face that means you're angry and said I don't like burning. I like crashing and rolled over and went to sleep.

You're walking down the dirt road again. And I'm watching you leave again. I don't call your name. And you don't look back. I know you're off to go find another drug and to have another conversation with God again. You'll find other men and ways to to extract pity from poor fools.

But you'll be back. I'm the best crash around and you know it.

Logic vs. Emotion-Why Both Are Necessary

I recently read Logicomix, a comic book about the famous philosopher, atheist, and logician Bertrand Russell. First of all, I have to say that it's an awesome book, even for those who have no idea who Russell is or hate math. It's a comic book. About logic. So fucking awesome. Anyway, one of the main themes (if not the main) is the struggle between logic and emotion, or rather, the rational part of the human brain vs. the not so rational and impulsive part. The book details Russell's life and how his goal in life was to know the truth. He became a logician and his whole life was dedicated to his career, in such a manner that if you look at his personal life, you can see how he kinda failed at personal relationships (his first wife left him, he couldn't deal with his polyamorous second wife, and then he married a third time). The book also deals with other logicians in Russell's time and their obsession with logic, truth, and knowledge (to the extent that their personal lives crumbled). I was amazed to find out that many of the men described in the book died tragically: Georg Cantor died in the mental asylum in which he had been forcefully interned; Gottlob Frege became increasingly paranoid in his old age and started writing treatises that were anti-Jewish, even suggesting "final solutions" to the "Jewish problem"; Kurt Godel died of starvation in the hospital because he became paranoid the staff was trying to poison him; David Hilbert ostracized his son when it was discovered he was schizophrenic and refused to visit him in the hospital until he died; and Alan Turing killed himself (but that was mostly because he was depressed since he was forcefully put on estrogens because he was a homosexual).

Why did all of these incredible mathematicians, men who were geniuses and who were supposed to be quite sound in intellectuality have such unsuccessful personal lives?

I have a feeling it's because they were so obsessed with their pursuit of logic, a way to completely deny the animalistic and emotional aspects of human life that when they were faced with it, they crumbled under the pressure. Because in reality, we are human. We are not machines. We have emotions and we are irrational sometimes. We have the ability to think and to be rational but we are, in essence, irrational beings. And that's totally okay.

There are some people who try to deny emotion. I'm one of those people. For the longest of times, I believed that emotion was a weakness, that if you showed you what you felt, that if you let down the walls and let people in, that if you cried, you were a failure and you weren't strong enough. I'm still struggling with letting people in, with not snubbing my nose at those who cry. I'm still struggling to learn empathy for those who are not as strange as me and I'm learning to actually be human. The thing is, emotion is good. Logic is also good. There are situations in which if you only listen to your heart, you're going to come out of the situation badly. You have to use your head sometimes and keep your heart at bay. There are some situations in which logic has no place in your decision and it's purely an emotional matter. But most situations deal with both the rational and irrational sides of you. You have to weigh the results and see which one is better, but at the same time you have to see which one will be better for you emotionally.

To be successful in life, one must be successful in all parts, not only in one's career. If you're a brilliant mathematician, that doesn't mean you are also brilliant with people or that you have a high self-esteem. If you're kind and help others and are the most intuitive, altruistic person in the world, it doesn't mean that you're intelligent. Everyone has the ability to be both, really. It's quite rare to be the latter, I've found, but there are so many who are brilliant intellectually and have this phobia of emotion. It's really not that bad. Having a good personal life, being able to interact with others, acting out sometimes, being able to handle a situation with maturity and with care are what makes us beautiful and truly human. Completely ignoring that other side of us doesn't make us stronger, it only makes us incomplete and weak.

Friday, January 14, 2011

from the mouth of a rockstar (stereotypical version)

Everyone thinks it starts when you're young, around five, and your parents get down to your pipsqueak level and ask you in that sickeningly sweet voice "Honey...What would you like to be when you grow up?" And in your five year old overdeveloped and mature mind, a lightbulb pops up and you say with conviction and your fist pumped in the air "A ROCKSTAR".

No, usually how it works, is you fail at life and that's why you become a rockstar. It seems hard to believe because we're supposed to be the glamorous untouchable gods of popular culture, but it's true. We can't make a decent grade to save our lives in school. And if we can, in between our weekdays filled with work, we try to make up a band of ragtag losers who can't play an instrument to save their lives. "Yeah, I'm in a band. With two other guys who can barely play  C D G A chords on the guitar and can keep a beat as long as their hearts aren't beating irregularly." And of course, you're the one that sings. Or plays the backup piano or accordion or some shit instrument like that. And of course, if you sing, you sound like a dying cat on helium running from a rabid squirrel on a bad trip of acid. Yeah, that bad.

Anyway, so we've got our bands. And we've got our garage and we've got our dreams or motivations or whatever. You know, we're gonna be famous one day. We're gonna be rockstars and tour and make music and change the world with our beautiful talent one day. We'll be like the Beatles and chicks will dug us and we'll finally get laid, muthafuckas. Yeah, because you know the only reason any of us actually started bands was to get laid.

So somehow, we have enough soul or talent or commercial potential that we get somewhere. We get a record deal and we get songs out and we're still screaming like dying, rabid cats and still rockin' those C D G A chords, but we've got professional guitar players and professional drum players and professional voice professors profesionally teachin' us. So we get better and we finally hit a spot where some people actually like our music. We get a fanbase, around the clubs we play at, after we've been hit with a few dozen (sometimes) empty beer bottles. We get some groupies, some chicks that are missin' half their teeth and their midriffs all showin', but fuck, it's the best thing we've seen since my old girlfriend slapped me around for trying to unhook her bra back in sophomore year. So we get blown and we get blown, if you know what I mean, and from there, it's all history.

...As in, that's when the shit hits the fan. But it doesn't seem like it hits the fan because we're having the times of our lives. We're not noticing the brown spread clear 'cross the spokes and little pieces of shit hitting us in the eyes. Because, yeah, we're playing the same damn old shit, and people like us, god knows why, 'cause we still suck, but we've found this lifestyle and we're stickin' to it, goddamn it.
We found the whores and the blow and the heroine...we've found the uppers and downers and after the first time, fuck. We need it all the time. Tour starts and you find yourself stuck in a van for several months at a time with two or five or seven other blokes pissing and farting all over the place. You can't even fucking wank off anymore 'cause all these fuckers are breathing down your neck. Not intentionally of course, just 'cause there's not enough space. So you try some shit. A bit of blow. Yo mamma told you never to do it 'cause yo mamma tried it when pa left her and fuck, it was good, but fuck, it was deadly. So you snort some and . Holy. Fuck. You're in heaven. You're floatin'. And you try some other shit and soon enough, it's the only thing that keeps you sane. Uppers in the evening so you can play that goddamn guitar and screech out that microphone and downers to help you go to sleep once in a while. Forget about shitting and eating. All you do is get high, sing, and fuck. Sleep if you can.

So everyone sees some image on MTV or the internet or something. They see this image of some dude breaking his heart over some girl he just had a fling with and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever heard and you play that song over and over and over again until you get sick of it. But behind that image, you've got the dude who actually did get his heart broken over a girl, and all he's doin' is tellin' you a story. Tellin' you a story of what he is, what he dreams, what he's lost, and what he's gonna become. All he's doin' is tellin' you what you in turn are, what you dream, what you've lost, and how you feel. You're too afraid to feel so you need us to tell you. So we will. Are we lyin' to ya? Sometimes. Sometimes, we tell you what you want to hear just so we can get you off our backs. But sometimes, we let you into our own little secrets.

Let me tell you one of them. You're not any different from us, from me. I'm still screechin' out from a microphone, giving all you motherfuckers a taste of how fucked up my life is, and you all are just lapping it up, but you are me and I am you. We're all the same. We're all the same low life scum of the world. We're all motherfuckers. Just that us rockstars, us rock "stars" are forcing you to realize it maybe, somehow. I don't know, man. I mean, at the end of the day when the interviewer asks me "And what's the best part of your life for you?" I gotta stop and think, ya know. I gotta stop and think. 'Cause fuck, my teeth are all rotted from all the drugs I've done. And my semen is all out in all the whores of the backstreets...My voice is leaving me slowly, and soon, I'll be out on the streets just like those whores, beggin' for a dime...but what I will always have is this fuckin' drive, man. Even after all that I've seen. I have this drive to show you all motherfuckers that you're all the fuckin' same. You're all the fuckin' same and you're not any different.

I'm not better than you. I don't live a more glamorous life than you. I'm just like you. I am you. So I don't know...Stop being so goddamn shy all the fuckin' time. Approach me once in a while. I'm tired of having people think I'm some kind of god. I ain't. I'm just some bloke who couldn't get laid in high school so he started a band of his own and then got a taste of his own medicine. I'm just tryin' to make a livin', pay my rent. I don't regret anything, I gotta tell you. But I just wish you'd get it into your head...

We all have the power to be rockstars. Just gotta let it out and tell the world your troubles. Some people will throw beer bottles at you and some will listen. And sometimes, that's all that you need to get through the day.

once a groupie, always a groupie (XII)

keep the car running
and the windows rolled up
the cigarette butts in the empty coke can
and the key in the ignition
let the thick smoke clog up the stale air
and the syringes in the glove compartment sit

flaming pink fingernails obsessively tapping the wheel
while long, pale legs cross over each other
black, translucent dress beckoning a closer look
spoilt cherry lips popping piercing mint gum

break through the neon yellow barricade
watch the crack spread like spiderweb 'cross the windshield
say goodbye to this cruel, unforgiving world
pray to jesus that he'll make your body look sexy even in death
as the blood drips off the dashboard

for several seconds you are a bird
wind under feathers lifting you towards the sun
until you feel your stomach drop sickeningly
and you force out a laugh that sounds like a strangled cat
instead of a proud, fierce goddess

you crashed and burned, alright
but you're not a phoenix and you won't rise from the ashes to the papers
only because you're dead doesn't mean you're redeemed
it just means you're dead

you're still the crack whore your mother said you'd become
blowing talent, hoping something else besides stds would rub off
but only because you wore jesus on your necklace
doesn't mean he didn't think you were a poser anyway

Thursday, January 13, 2011

how phobias start (IX)

you gotta give it time
she says, as she locks me in her owl eyes
opens her cherry lips slightly
as her snake tongue darts out
and barely touches the tips of my fingers
managing only to get the nails wet

you'll get used to it soon
she smiles as her hands curl behind my neck
and my hair parts like the red sea
as everything else in my body splits into the ocean
and her breath floods into my mouth
to the back of my throat, coats my lungs
and infiltrates my heart

long after she leaves, my skin still tastes like her
and she's left her temptress imprint on me
my sheets and my brain

i've washed these damn hands until they're raw and bloody
but i still can't get the smell of weed and cum off

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

morning glory (XVII)

now i'm ready
to enter the space-time continuum
to be sucked into the whirl of ice-blue
and creeping velvet carpets

i'm floating
climbing towards myself
i am god
six arms outstretched
i am shiva
scaly, red, barely born
like a baby screaming out of its mother's placenta

and the blood red vines stealthily crawling up my legs
my arms, and the icy water hitting my bones repeatedly
like rain drip
creating a ripple effect
through my bones, flowing through my veins

i cannot move
yet i am already there

Thursday, January 6, 2011

obsession ii (XI)

i've been learning how to know you
truly know you without touching you
without even looking at you
i can simply close my eyes and feel you
radiating before me, your body pulsating
across from mine and the distance between our flesh
thick with impenetrable electricity

i've tattooed your form on the inside of my eyelids
your autumn hair cascading down your curved shoulders
your green eyes taking ahold of me and drowning me
in the ocean of your enlarged pupils
your skin, white from years of sitting inside
and naming the sun your worst enemy

your fingers, long and fragile, quick and flexible from a lifetime
of piano and woman loving
your legs, stretched out before you, the feet pointed towards the floor
thighs open, pale neck stretched so your head lolls backwards

you are a goddess and i cannot help but worship you
i cannot help my eager and clumsy attempts to make love to you
true love to you and for you, and maybe you can love me too
maybe if i make you breathe fast enough
or maybe if i make the sweat pour down your breasts
maybe if i can get you to say my name or to say
'babe you were good' with that smirk that barely shows your wolf teeth

and maybe if i could become the best lover you ever had and ever will have
if i could have access to those lips
oh god, those lips that part ever so slightly
as the smoke that comes out curls over your chin and cheeks
and reaches my mouth and enters my throat and lungs
to coat my organs with tar and sex appeal

if i could swim in that smoke, if i could just conquer that mouth of yours
i could catch you, beautiful bird, and cage you in my heart
keep you there until you cried out that you'd had enough, but i would not let you out
because don't you know, when you love someone, they belong completely to you
and only to you

i swear that tonight i will make you mine
you will not escape until i consume you
eat you, drink you, and our bodies interweave
until i become you and you become me
and we burn up in flames as we consummate our love.